


A Curious Case of Clutter

by WampWitch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Satire, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WampWitch/pseuds/WampWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get a little dirty between John and Sherlock one afternoon, but the two of them find more than mess between the piles of clutter in Sherlock's flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Curious Case of Clutter

**Author's Note:**

> I was given the challenge of writing a Johnlock fanfiction by a dear friend and fan of the BBC series. Having never seen BBC's Sherlock, I performed quick tumblr research under the Johnlock tag. I find it interesting to see how an unaffiliated person interprets the babbling of a fandom, so this brief fanfiction is, from an outsider's view, what a Johnlock afternoon is like. I hope you have fun reading it!

“Is there some kind of rule that you have to make as much noise as possible while I’m trying to think?” Sherlock snapped at John. 

John Watson promptly turned off the vacuum that he had been forcefully attacking the ground with. Despite a full assault, John noticed no improvement in the dreadful state of the carpet. Giving the floor one final head shake he rounded on Sherlock. “I don’t know.” He lashed back, “Is there some sort of rule that requires you to drop all of your rubbish on the floor. I mean look at the state of this place, Sherlock. It’s abysmal.” 

“I’ll take care of that later.” The detective quipped, “Right now I’m working on a case, and it’s very important.”

“More important that personal hygiene?” Watson queried, quirking an eyebrow at the mess that was slowly engulfing Sherlock and his flat. “What could possibly be so imperative to prevent you from showering for so long?”

Sherlock looked surprised at that. He squinted his eyes in the manner that most people do when thinking. “Has it really been that long?” He mumbled to himself.

“What’s gotten into you lately? You’ve been acting bizarre. Are you sick? Do you have a fever?” John flitted to his companion’s side, checking his forehead for an advanced temperature. While he did not detect a fever, Watson did notice Sherlock immediately stiffen at his touch. Pulling his hand back John met the detective’s gaze. Swallowing the lump that had started to grow in his throat due to Sherlock’s close proximity, he managed to blurt out a brief apology. He took a seat beside his friend on the cluttered sofa. Sherlock had done a lot of things to John, but he had never frozen at his touch before.

Worried that he might have done something to upset Sherlock, he began to speak, “Have I- have I done something wrong?” Fearing the answer he might get, he leaned over to rest his head in his hands. 

Sherlock remained silent for what, to Watson, seemed like in exorbitant amount of time, only adding to the stress that was beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. Then suddenly Watson felt a light touch on his back. It was almost as if the detective was trying to comfort him. The longer Sherlock’s hand rested on his back, the more he became sure of it. Sitting up, he discovered himself to be the object of his companion’s contemplation. 

“I-If something is wrong, you know you can always tell me.” John hesitantly stammered. To reinforce what he was saying, he gathered Sherlock’s hands in his. He was finding it hard to keep eye contact, so he kept his vision locked onto the wretched carpet. Eyeing a particularly large crumb.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Sherlock finally broke the silence. 

Initially hurt, John looked back to the man sitting beside him, but before he could manage a single word, Sherlock lunged toward john’s face. 

Fireworks: Stunned, that was all that John could think of. Where was he? Slowly regaining more senses, he noticed two very warm hands cupping his face. He was being kissed. Who could possibly be kissing him? Unwilling to open his eyes for fear of breaking the passion he was currently embroiled in, John mentally retraced his steps. Was it Mary kissing him? No, absolutely not. No kiss he had ever shared with her had ever felt this true, this right. Besides, Mary’s lips weren’t this soft. Who could it…?

Realization hit John like a train. A very smug, tall, and handsome train with great hair. Knowing this didn’t cause him to draw back; however, it pulled him closer to the man kissing him. A weight that John hadn’t even realized was on him was slowly being lifted. It was almost as if the hunger, with which Sherlock was attacking John’s lips was drawing out a poison. 

“Mmmmhhmm,” John hummed, full of content.

In response, Sherlock, ever so softly, bit John’s lower lip.

“O-oh,” breathed Watson. 

Taking this as a cue, Sherlock pulled back, dragging John on top of him and sending a rather precarious stack of case files fluttering to the floor. 

John went to work undoing the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, but he was stopped halfway by the impatient man beneath him. Preferring to skip the tedious task of unbuttoning, Sherlock simply ripped the rest of his shirt open. Buttons clattered off in all directions.

John sharply inhaled, biting his lip to try and contain the wave of attraction he felt to the detective’s muscular abdomen. Tracing the shapes that Sherlock’s muscles raised on his skin, desire began to well deep within him. He was drawn back to the matter at hand by Sherlock attempting and succeeding to pull John’s shirt off over his head.

Peppering Sherlock’s stomach with kisses, John slowly worked his way down to the top of the detective’s jeans. He gripped the zipper between his teeth, and began to work it down. He could feel that underneath his trousers, Sherlock was just as excited and ready as he was.

“Oh, Watson,” Sherlock sighed, “I’ve wanted you so long, skip the foreplay. Here.” He reached into a pile of whatnots and pulled out a bottle of lube. 

“Okay, love.” John chuckled in response, not surprised by his bluntness. 

John Watson made short work of removing the rest of their clothes. He flipped Sherlock over, his throbbing member ready for battle. He squeezed a good portion of the lube into his destination, and entered. The tightness of his best friend caused him to groan with pleasure. He slid the rest of the way into Sherlock, eliciting a moan from his good buddy. He pulled back and began plowing the sweet, supple flesh of Sherlock. He didn’t stop or slow down until an orgasm ripped through his body. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” John panted into Sherlock’s strong back.

Sherlock grunted in return, feeling his friend fill him like a hot bolt of white lightning.

They fell asleep like that, intertwined on the couch, paying no regard to the clutter that had worsened during their afternoon romp.

John woke the next morning with Sherlock in his arms. He kissed his back and snuggled closer to the detective. Yeah, this. This was what felt right.


End file.
